


take me out (and finish this waste of a life)

by plantonically



Category: Twenty One Pilots
Genre: Angst, Homophobic Slurs, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Mild Fluff, Non-Explicit Sex, Self-Hatred, Sexual Violence, Unhealthy Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-14
Updated: 2017-01-14
Packaged: 2018-09-17 10:08:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 763
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9318710
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/plantonically/pseuds/plantonically
Summary: "You know I didn't mean it."





	

**Author's Note:**

> here have more sad bc i am apparently incapable of writing anything else.

"Y-yes, sir."

Backed up against a wall, shaky legs, unhealthily skinny, naked. Vulnerable. Dark bruises littering his body. His mind screams at him. _Run, run, run_.

Hot breath tickling his throat. A growl that sends shivers down his spine. Teeth sinking into tender skin. Dark red blood. A yelp; a mistake. Hard wood colliding with already mangled skin. A broken sob. _Run, run, run._

"Stupid slut." Venom. "Worthless fucking whore. You're nothing but a cum dump." Shaking like a leaf. "Look at me when I'm talking to you!" Hair being yanked at painfully. "You're such a fucking cockslut, aren't you, you dirty little _faggot_?" _Run, run, run._

Tears forming. Falling down, down. A slap in the face. Red handprint. Hands around his neck. Can't breathe, can't breathe. _Run, run, run_.

But he doesn't. He wants this, after all.

He's been fucked like this for as long as he can remember. His sixteenth birthday ended with his crush at the time fucking him until he bled, telling him to shut up when he cried out in pain. He didn't tell him to stop, though. He didn't want him to.

By the time he turned eighteen, he'd had so many strange men fuck his mouth that he lost his gag reflex and his self-esteem had been so damaged that he lost the ability to say no to anything. It's easy to accept pain and humiliation when you already hate yourself.

And now that he's twenty-one, it's really not that different. He still sees himself as a ragdoll for other men to do with as they please, but now some of the marks on his body are a creation of his own. Now he's come to terms with the fact that fags like him don't deserve love. He doesn't deserve gentle treatment. He doesn't want gentle treatment. Maybe it's because he's never experienced it, but that doesn't matter. The men in his life usually put up with him, are nice enough to maybe hold him afterwards or even stay the night, something that Tyler is eternally grateful for. It makes him feel less gross. It's as close to being loved as he'll get.

.-- .- - -.-. ....

Scene's over. Ropes off. Burnt wrists. Empty eyes, gaze cast downwards. Shameful.

"You know I didn't mean it."

Reminiscent of his dad's words after hitting him so hard he'd curl up in a corner and cry. Silence. A nod.

**RUN.**

Bubble bath. Empty eyes. A smirk. _run_

Nighttime. Scratchy sheets. Sore mouth, painful throat. Bitter taste on his tongue. Tears drying on his face. Disgusting. The desire to claw off his own skin. Empty promises, responded to with empty eyes.

He's being taken care of, reassured he's not any of those horrible things he was just called. But he's an ungrateful bitch. That's what he's told before the door slams shut. Before he cries himself to sleep.

.... .. --

"Sure. How do you want it to go?"

Pink curls. Straight, white teeth showing in a wide grin. Warm eyes. Familiar smell. Home.

"Well... I don't really have any limits. You can tie me up, choke me, call me names, pretty much anything you please."

Grin fading. A look of discomfort. Silence. Anxiety in his veins. Confusion. What has he said wrong?

"Why would you..." An intake of breath. A sigh. "Why do you want me to hurt you, Ty?"

No answer. Tyler doesn't have a reason. He had one, he's sure, but he lost it ages ago, somewhere between all the pills he swallowed.

"Would you... would you be okay with me not doing any of that?" Josh asks, cupping his cheek, "Do you trust me to make love to you?"

A smile tugging at the corners of his lips, accompanied by a nod.

..-. .- .-.. .-..

Rose petals and dark brown eyes is where Tyler finds himself again.

Legs wrapped around Josh's waist, lips and hands connected, vanilla filling his nostrils, satin sheets beneath him. That's where he feels safe, where he feels loved for the first time in eight years.

Josh's hands are rough, but not in the same way as the other men's. They're calloused, but his fingers dance across his skin in a way that can only be described as gentle, loving. They're not able to scrape off the dirt left on his body by the countless men who he let fuck him, though; nothing ever will be.

But that's okay, because he doesn't have to be perfect to be loved. He doesn't have to be pure to be beautiful. Josh tells him that every day.

And on their wedding night,

_Tyler believes it._

**Author's Note:**

> nope. it wasn't me.


End file.
